


Under No Circumstances/Two Moon Tango

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Hart and Gwen Cooper are forced to choose the rift over blowing up half of Cardiff. Adventures ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if John had subdued Gwen with something other than paralysing lip gloss?
> 
> Alternate shipping container search scene in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

_It had been a hell of a day_, Gwen thought.

That bloody... blowfish. Their fearless leader had come back. Captain John Hart had turned up with a possibly cockamamie story about radioactive bomb canisters. And she'd shared her engagement news with Jack, which had been... awkward. Gwen was exhausted, yet there she was searching a container facility with some bloke Jack had apparently spent five years with in some sort of wedded bliss - or not. Definitely a hell of a day.

"Just some...idiot I work with, that's all," Gwen said and then concluded her conversation with Rhys and slipped her mobile back into her pocket.

Captain John Hart _was_ an idiot. But she'd told Jack she would flirt a bit, try to find out what John was really up to.

 

"So this woman..." Gwen prodded Hart for details.

"Can we not talk about this?" he asked, exasperated.

This was going well.

"Sorry." Of course, she wasn't sorry. But what Gwen really wanted to know were facts. Solid facts. About Jack. Since Hart probably- no, make that undeniably - knew more about her boss than she did.

"You've known Jack for a long time, hmm?"

"And I'm definitely not talking about that. But I'm surprised he hasn't already told you about his past. At one time, he wouldn't have shut up about it."

"You seem like the sort who doesn't shut up," Gwen retorted

Hart laughed and checked another door. "Guilty."

"So... why did this woman have cluster bombs again?"

He laughed again, his voice a low rumble. "Beautiful, you're clearly fishing for information. Is that what... Jack... told you to do?"

"No. Just making conversation while we poke through 300 oversized garden sheds in the dark."

"Right. Tell you what...you give me information and I'll give you information. Fair swap."

"What's the point? You'd just lie," Gwen said.

"No I wouldn't, actually. I honour swaps. Wouldn't rip you off."

Gwen pointed her torch at his face and fixed him with a doubtful glare.

Hart continued."You ask first."

"Okay. The cluster bombs?"

"She was keeping something dangerous out of the wrong hands. Noble aim, really." He flipped his torch to aim at another set of doors. "My turn to ask."

"Go on," Gwen said.

"Who's he shagging?"

"What?"

"Your captain. Which of you are playing pin-the-tail on the team leader? I'd have thought it'd be you. Then the eye candy in the suit, then the clever one. Maybe all of you, all at once, or taking tur-"

"Why do you want to know?"

"See, you don't understand how this works, do you? You answer me and then you get another question," he stopped to slam another door. "Oh, wait... " he paused. "You're touchy because it's not you he's shagging, is that it?"

Gwen lowered her gun. "Not at all."

"You wonder if maybe there's something wrong with you. Maybe there is. Your captain will fuck anybody and anything.. even aliens...but not you," Hart laughed. "That's it!"

"Shut up. I'm not interested in Jack," Gwen said, her voice sharp. "I have a fiance."

"I'm sure you'll be very happy together, even though what you really want is to shag your boss."

"Shut it."

"It's alright, Gorgeous. Everybody wants Jack. It's always been like that. I know why he won't, with you, though."

Gwen peered into another shipping container, but was silent. She slammed the door a bit harder than strictly necessary before Hart spoke up again.

"Are you going to answer my question? Clearly not, so I'll just guess-"

"It's Ianto," Gwen revealed.

"Eye candy! What do I win? Oh, right, ask me a question now. Why Jack won't shag you? That one?"

"Were you really in love with that woman, with the bombs?" Gwen asked.

"No. My turn. I'm tired of playing truth. I want to give you a dare."

"That's not the same game, is it, Captain Hart?"

"I'm flexible. Don't be such a killjoy. Come on, do one thing I dare you to do and you dare me. I'll do anything you think of. Or you can ask me anything you like. About the canisters, about your...captain. Anything."

"Fine."

"Kiss me."

"Absolutely not," Gwen stated, as Jack's words in the conference room rang in her ears: _"Under no circumstances let him kiss you."_

"Come on, why not? You're engaged, not married. Or dead. It's innocent fun, right? Oh. Don't tell me. You haven't even kissed Ja-"

"I'm not snogging you, Princess Leia. No way."

Hart barked out a laugh, then pushed Gwen up against one of the metal container doors, his lips a fraction of a centimetre from hers. His hands slid down her wrists and quickly disarmed her. Gwen heard her handgun clatter hard to the pavement, followed by the torch. Hart pulled her forward with both hands, opened one of the containers and pushed her to the dusty floor inside.

Gwen silently cursed herself for dropping her guard. She rained blows on his shoulders until he could capture her wrists again, this time with just one hand. She attempted to squirm and kick, but he wrapped his legs around her own.

"Get OFF me!" she yelled.

"Shhh, Beautiful. I won't hurt you."

The struggle continued, but out of breath and unable to escape, Gwen finally gave up and lay prone and panting beneath him.

Hart's free hand slid to the edge of her t-shirt, which had ridden up to expose her stomach. He ran a fingertip lightly against the strip of skin.

"Don't touch me," she warned, through gritted teeth.

"Stop me, then."

"You know I can't. You've won. Let me go."

"Can't or don't want to?" His eyes fixed on hers in the semi-dark as his fingers slid to play slowly over her ribcage, then roamed delicately over the silken surface of her bra. He sucked in a breath.

"Oh hello. That's lovely... and it's not cold in here at all, is it, Gwen? Plus, you've just had a bit of a tussle to warm you up. Fighting always warms me up, if you know what I mean."

Gwen shuddered despite, well everything. _Feels so good, so damned good_, she thought.

And Hart's scent. He had the same heady aroma as... Jack. This close, John Hart smelled like something... indefinably fabulous. Like pure undistilled arousal. Impossibly, she found her body responding to his touch, the feel of his erection pressing hard against her as his thighs tightened around hers in a scissor lock.

"When was the last time somebody besides your darling fiance wanted you this much?" Hart purred.

_No-one else will have me_. "Damn you."

"I'm already there, love." Hart grinned. "This is much, much better than my original dare, isn't it. You like this?" His hand smoothed down her side and to the front of her jeans. He unfastened the top button and whispered in her ear. "Oh he's playing hero now, but I know him. He's waiting for something and when he gets it, he'll be gone. He'll leave his little band of Bikini Cops on this wretched ball of dirt and head for brighter galaxies, dear Gwen."

"He's already left, Jack has. And he's come back," Gwen hissed in return.

Hart tugged at her zip.

"Don't," she moaned. This. Here. With...this was ill-advised. Very.

"You know, that does not sound at all convincing." Hart said. "Tell you what. You have ten seconds to tell me to stop again, and I will. Promise. Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

He slowly slid his hand inside her jeans, curling it around her. Gwen gasped.

"...six, five, four...oh Goddess," Hart murmured, his right hand tightening around her wrists. "You're _drenched_."

Gwen realised that Hart had rolled off her lower body at some point and she could move her legs, maybe. She could...

The heel of one boot scraped loudly along the floor just as his teeth found her earlobe and a questing finger found its target and stroked. He let go of her wrists, suddenly, and she gripped his shoulders.

Gwen moaned again. "You. Don't stop. What are you... doing to me?"

"Nothing you don't want or need, am I? Come on, come," he whispered as his fingers worked. "I dare you."

And she did.

 

"I'll answer your question now. The question you didn't ask but you're dying to. Why Jack looks at you that way, yet still won't throw you down and shag you sideways?"

Gwen was silent.

"Here's your answer. It's not you, it's him. It's because he knows what would happen. If he ever fucks you, Gwen Cooper, he'll ruin you for anybody else. For the rest of your life. I should know."

He laughed and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper: "You really ought to thank him."

The last thing she thought of before he snapped a capsule in front of her nose and she inhaled something with a sharp chemical tang, were Jack's words:

"There's the tiniest one-percent chance he's breaking a habit of a lifetime, and telling the truth."

Gwen awoke to the distant sound of a ringing mobile and the clatter of metal doors. She twisted to get up and felt a bolt of pain shoot up her arms at the movement. She was handcuffed to a pipe. Fantastic, this was.

Gwen banged her boot against a nearby wall and shouted.

"You let him kiss you, didn't you?" Toshiko asked her, after they'd removed the cuffs and Owen pulled her to her feet. In a bizarrely thoughtful gesture, Hart had done up her zip.

"No," Gwen said quietly as she brushed the dust from her legs. And she hadn't.

 

She guessed she'd done something right today.


	2. Chapter 2

Art by [](http://laurab1.livejournal.com/profile)[**laurab1**](http://laurab1.livejournal.com/) 

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/51stcenturyfox/pic/00042kpc)   


She had just seconds to make the decision. She’d technically decided nearly ten minutes earlier but this was it. _This was for real. _

Gwen dragged John Hart towards the rift, heard something about a last-minute rescue and then everything just… happened.

“Tell Jack…” she said, last words. “Tell Jack I…” John Hart clutched at his throat and his hand went north.

The red sports car roared up, Jack and Owen tore towards them in what felt like slow motion , Jack, a needle clutched in his fist, knocked them to the pavement. A tiny object caught in the sun as it flew through the air. The hypodermic went in and… nothing.

Ianto’s shout: “Four seconds. Three!”

Then, there was no more time.

Gwen dashed for the bright flicker of the portal, pulling Hart with her.

As the rift began to close behind them she turned to see their faces: Toshiko, horrified. Owen, angry. Ianto staring after them in open-mouthed shock, stopwatch still clutched in his hand and Jack, his eyes unspeakably sad.

Her lips formed the words, silently. Then…

_“Goodbye.”_

 

 

Gwen felt a moment of deep regret and closed her eyes. Then, she didn’t feel anything. No searing heat or deafening boom… just silence.

_This must be death, then_, she thought. _It’s just like they all said._

Then she opened her eyes and saw a rush of colour and light and felt absolutely nothing under her feet. The only tie to anything stable was the hypersteel handcuff which held her fast to Captain John Hart. And he wasn’t stable. At all.

She felt a jolt of sickmaking vertigo and then his other arm wrapped around her and pulled her close and he lifted her chin up. Her eyes went to Hart’s and she was surprised to find them dancing with delight as the whirling motion suddenly stopped. She could sense a blessedly solid surface beneath her feet and they both fell to their knees.

Hart threw his head back and laughed. He pulled Gwen over and rolled atop her on the marshy ground under bright moonlight.

“What happened? Why didn’t the bomb go off?” She asked as her eyes flicked to the device. The lights and counter had blinked out.

“Don’t know – vortex buggered it? At any rate, this is a very, very good outcome. Fabulous." He ended the declaration with a shout at the sky: "Perfect!”

Gwen looked around. “Where on earth are we?”

“My first guess is… not.”

“Oh. Wait. _What_? We’re on another planet?” Gwen pushed him off and stood on shaky legs.

“Maybe. Probably," Hart said with a shrug.” I have no idea. Really didn’t have time to set coordinates, did I?”

As if the last day and a half hadn’t been outrageous enough. Gwen could feel a freakout coming on.

_Oh God. We could die out here. Need to get back. What if we can’t get back? No!_ she thought as she began to hyperventilate, the moist and heavy air like an invasion in her mouth and throat, choking her. Hart grasped her shoulder.

“Could you please panic later?” he asked, and then motioned to his chest. "I’d like to get this agonisingly sharp and possibly still explosive object out of my flesh first. You understand.”

He pulled at it and winced. “Agh. I can’t do this.”

Gwen took a deep breath, then another and forced herself to focus. She looked down at him before she knelt to examine the device and pressed a hesitant finger into its centre.

“_Out_, not in!” He hissed. She tentatively dipped a fingernail beneath one of the prongs and popped it to the surface as Hart winced in pain. She continued the process until the bomb fell onto his lap. Gwen picked it up and examined it, then pulled back to throw it into the distance, before he caught her arm:

“No!” he said. “Keep that. We might need it for… something.” He stuffed the device into his pocket, looked down at his right wrist, pulled away the top of the leather strap and stabbed at a few buttons, then made an adjustment. “And this little - or frankly, _not so little_ tool - has to recharge itself a bit.”

He motioned towards a light on the horizon. “As the moon is setting behind us, I would imagine that’s the glow of civilisation and I know from hard experience that civilisation is usually better than the alternative. Especially when it comes to specific requirements like finding some way to remove hypersteel shackles.”

“Yeah. These? That was incredibly stupid,” Gwen said, raising a fist and shaking his arm along with hers.

“I had the key tucked down my throat. When your intrepid leader pushed me over it flew out of my hand. It was too far away to-“ Hart looked at her face and gave up, with a shrug. “I’m... sorry?“

She offered a withering sidelong glance. “Stupid.”

“Cheer the fuck up, sunshine. We’re not dead, at any rate. We should celebrate. Shag?”

“What? No! And no thanks to you. This is all your fault.”

“I’ve already apologised once, and that is not something I do very often at all, Beautiful, so… “

"Okay, first off, I don't care for your little terms of endearment. My name is Gwen, so stick with that, all right? Second, you're not getting into my-"

“All right. _Gwen_. Made your point. Let’s go.”

They began to trudge towards the light, Gwen struggling to keep her feet moving as she was pulled along by the cuff.

“Slow down, would you? Walking is difficult, here,” she said.

“Stronger gravitational pull.”

“I cannot believe this. We’re on another planet.” Gwen glanced around her in wonder, but there wasn't much to see in the half-darkness - just scrub, dirt and some structures in the distance.

“Another time too,” Hart said. “Possibly. Actually, this place smells familiar. My vortex manipulator wasn’t keyed into a specific location, but I think we’ve ended up on the nearest spot in the back catalogue.”

“So it’s a nearby planet?” Gwen said, a sliver of hope in her voice.

“Not really, but “nearby” doesn’t matter. There’s no concept of that when you’re dealing with the space time continuum. It’s like space - and time too - are endless flat sheets of thin tissue, sticky on both sides. They seem flat but fold in upon each other on a scale we can’t imagine. Eleven dimensions. Sometimes the membranes touch. And that’s a vortex. Elementary stuff. Write that down and you could win a science prize or something. Posthumously.”

There was silence.

 

The lights of the settlement… it couldn’t really be called a town… grew brighter as they walked and an eerie sound reached them.

“What is that? It’s awful. Sounds like pipes clanking down a sewer,” Gwen complained.

“You don’t know that song? It’s 20th bleeding century! Lou Reed. He was ahead of his time.”

“It’s rubbish.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“You like this?”

“Not much, but if you’re bitching about the mood music, you must be less concerned about imminent death.”

Gwen stopped in her tracks, pulling Hart back into a near-stumble.

“I am extremely worried about not getting back to the same Cardiff that I left, Captain Hart. And don’t you-”

“Psssh. Fine,” he said, waving her off as they approached a bank of shallow steps leading to an outdoor amphitheatre where small groups were gathered. Snippets of speech carried in the thick air.

“They speak English?” Gwen asked him.

“It's the wrist strap. It translates.”

“Aliens, then?”

“They’re not all evil bastards.”

She threw him a dubious look.

“All right. Point. Though I'd argue for 'misunderstood'. But technically, we’re the aliens here, Gwen Cooper. On your earth, too. Panspermia? Heard of it? One of your local boys will win an award in a few centuries for figuring that out. You ought to be grateful that I know this place and really grateful that it doesn’t have a _Torchwood_.”

Gwen didn’t have a comeback for that.

 

A man sitting on a bench at a table raised his head and looked at them as they strode through the milling groups. His eyes held a glint of recognition

“Oh Goddess. What are the odds?” Hart said, sotto voce. “This one actually _is_ a bastard. Let me do the talking.” He tucked Gwen’s cuffed hand in his and under his arm to hide the incongruous bracelet.

Hart spoke up first: “Hello there, old friend.”

“Friend?” The man stared at them, his fist curling around the handle of a metal stein. He had blue eyes and bright red hair, sticking up in curly tufts and more of the same on his cheeks and chin, extending into the high neck of the black jacket he wore. As he stood, Gwen noted that he was as tall as he was burly.

“It’s… John Hart, remember me?”

“You’re..? Yeah. Right.”

“Proctor, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is. Good memory.” Proctor's gaze roamed over Gwen’s body, to her dismay. “Who’s your fetching partner?”

“Oh. This. Her? This is Violette,” Hart said and Gwen shot him a look. He squeezed her forearm with his own. “Drinks? I’m parched.”

“You buy, Hart,” Proctor grunted, motioning at them to sit. “As I recall, you owe me.”

“Let’s discuss that over a few shots of hyper, shall we?”

A roving server came round and John Hart placed the order: “Nine shots. straight.” When they were delivered he doled them out, and he and Proctor downed the first with identical hasty gulps.

Gwen ran her fingers over one of the cold metallic shooters.

“Just drink it, it'll calm you down,” Hart whispered the order in her ear. So she did.

_Good GOD_, she thought, unable to hold back a full-body shudder. The drink felt like icy fingers smacking every vein like pistons on cylinders, down to her toes. _That’s some pretty good shit, that is. _

John Hart nodded at her knowingly.

She sat back and examined the crowd as Hart began telling Proctor a very familiar story about a woman he loved and a cache of Arcadian diamonds. Gwen struggled to keep a smile off of her face and zoned out a bit. Good shit indeed.

"That's not all," Hart was saying. "I've got this." He passed the DNA-linked disabled bomb across the table. "Just a prototype there, of course, but I've got access to dozens of those lethal babies."

"Yes, I'm intrigued," Proctor said, rubbing the gingery tufts on his chin, "but I'll need a bigger cut. You already owe me 80,000 credits. Can you throw in the female, too?" He gestured at Gwen.

"What?" she jumped in her seat.

"Oh, you don't want her. She's a pain."

"No," Gwen shook her head vehemently, "you don't. And I really am."

Another tall man stepped up on a platform and the lights went up. He plucked an object from a stand and held it aloft.

"It's time! Who will go first?"

"What's this, a slave auction?" Gwen asked.

Proctor stared at her. "What kind of uncivilised place do you hail from?" He stood unsteadily and strode to the platform, then placed the object on his head and adjusted a flexible bar in the direction of his mouth.

Music started again and Proctor began to sing. What he lacked in tone and ability, he made up with volume. "In the year 2525..." he warbled from the stage.

There was apparently no escape from karaoke.

 

"Could I have... something else?" Gwen asked plaintively. "I think I need a break from the hypervodka for a bit."

"Get the lady a Ro!" Proctor roared. A server jumped and scuttled away, then hurried back with a red and white cylinder and poured her a drink.

Gwen sipped it hesitantly and blinked. "That's... Coca-Cola," she exclaimed to John Hart. He winked back.

"Some things never change, Violette."

 

"Pssst, Hart," Gwen said, in a stage whisper. "I have to wee."

"Go then."

She pulled at his cuffed wrist with hers. "Oh yes. S'cuse us," he told Proctor. He led Gwen towards a small outbuilding.

"You're going into the women's loo?" she asked.

"No choice, is there?  Plus, there's no specific... you are so 21st century," he sputtered. "Fine. I won't look."

Of course, he did. And he waited until after they got back to let her know that Proctor had a pocket laser tumbler he could use to break the handcuff lock.

She forced herself not to smack him one.

 

When they arrived at the room Proctor had arranged for them, Gwen paused, picked up Hart's canteen and gazed over at him as she sipped. Straight hypervodka. She managed to keep a violent cough at bay.

She didn’t want to admit it, but she was having... fun. On another planet with a probable lunatic.

John Hart had made her feel guilty. And wrong. And bad. And good. All at the same time. She remembered the day Owen had shoved her backward against a tree, the same day she'd been excruciatingly embedded with a spray of buckshot and had been so fucking... frightened, more frightened than she'd been any day before.

Gwen knew this about herself. She got off on a little bit of fear and a lot of incompatibility. And the hyper didn’t hurt, either.

She'd already let him touch her once, and as completely messed up as the whole thing was, it had been exciting. _In for a penny, in for a pound_, Gwen thought.

_And it wasn't like anybody ever had to know.  
_

 

Freshly showered, Gwen stood in a dressing gown, hands on hips, and stared up at the skylight as Hart rambled on about the diamond con he'd worked out and similar deals and amusing aliases and "Jack this" and "Jack once said".

_Two moons. Fancy that. _

She felt fingertips smooth across the inside of her knee and shivered.

"Not one for taking it from the top, are you, Captain?"

"What do you want, kisses and cuddles? Ohhh, right, your boss warned you not to let me kiss you. I guess you do everything he says, don't you?"

Gwen regarded him quietly and then asked:

"Why do you keep bringing him up?"

Hart looked up at her.

"You're alike, that's why."

"I'm like _Jack_?"

"In a way. Not this Jack, you're what he used to be, Gwen. Before this. Before me. Why do you think he joined the Time Agency? "

"I wouldn't know. I- we know next to nothing about him. Or this Time Agency for that matter."

"Why did you join the police? And then... Torchwood? Why didn't you become a doctor or an estate agent or a chef?"

Gwen was silent as he continued.

"When he asked you to join his team, did you hesitate, for even a minute? Sleep on it? Talk it over with-"

"Don't talk about my fiancé. At all."

"All right, but did you hesitate?"

"No."

"See, I'm thinking maybe the other members of your band of merry men and women probably did. Goddess knows how he hooked them in, but you came willingly. I can tell."

His hand gripped her thigh tightly. "...and it hasn't changed you yet, or that much, but it will. Exposure to new worlds, things outside of your understanding. These things always do." He pulled her towards him roughly, onto his lap and her knees slid back on the bed.

"Feel that. Feel how hard I am for you."

Her breath caught as she did, and again when he began to touch her.

 

Gwen traced his upper lip with her fingertips and as his tongue slowly emerged to lick at them, she heard Jack in her head again. "_Under no circumstances let him kiss you_."

Her mouth dipped to his, and it was like kissing anyone else, until she felt the rush and the pull and his hands went to her shoulders to bring the dressing gown down in one motion.

...and his kiss. It was intense and light and insolent and tender all at once. She felt as if she were drowning in taste and his remarkable scent before she remembered to surface and breathe.

Gwen pulled her head back finally and gasped to the skylight. "Maybe he does want you all to himself."

She felt his lips twist into a smile at that as they slid to her throat and she warned him: "No... marks."

"I'm actually not an idiot, Gwen," he murmured into the curve of her neck. His hands slipped slowly from her hips to her back to her breasts and his mouth fell to taste and tease at one nipple with such focused ardour she clasped one shoulder and dug her nails in so hard she drew a sharp wince.

"Marks are absolutely fine by me however, just so you know,"

"I'll remember that," she said, as she clawed a diagonal slash from his shoulder across his chest and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Next time, you can cuff _me_," he whispered.

"There won't be a next time, Hart."

"That's what they all say, until they find my coordinates," he said, and kissed her again, long and deep.

He grabbed her, stretched out and pulled until she was again above him on the bed. Her hands went to his shoulders as he began to rock against her teasingly, leisurely.

"So wet. That just for me?"

"Mmm..." she nodded, eyes closed.

"Not thinking about anyone else right now, are you?"

"No."

"Neither am I," he said, as his hand found her heat and he slipped two fingers inside, circling above with his thumb.

"We... need a-" Gwen whispered, clutching at his arms.

"I know." He reached down to locate his jumbled trousers and pulled out a circular packet. "Had a feeling you’d expect one of these, Retro."

"Cocky bastard."

"Now,_ that's apt._"

 

"This place frightens me,” Gwen said, afterward as she made random shadows with her hand in the glare from the moons. “What happens if we can't get back?”

“Why the hell would you worry about that?” Hart asked, bewildered.

“Well, weren't you and Jack stuck in some sort of a time loop or something? For years?”

“Right. Well, that was a very unusual circumstance.”

“Who was the wife, again?”

"I think we've already settled that discussion.  Would you like me to fetch you anything else? Tea?”

 

When she awoke, moonlight was still streaming in above. _I guess there’s technically no morning here, as such,_ Gwen thought. She stretched and looked over at Hart, who was fiddling with his wrist strap.

“I can get you back.”

She sat up on her knees. “You wouldn't lie about that would you? Honestly?”

“No. And yes.”

“Same time I left, or will I have to avoid myself for 20 years?”

“It’s looking promising. There’s rift activity here and I can key it to a specific time in Cardiff. Happy?”

“Yes!” She fell back on the bed with a relieved smile.

“Now, you just have to make a few decisions. First one: Are you sure you want to go back there? Because there are other places I could show you. Very interesting places. Less humid and gravitationally challenging, too.”

“Erm. No.”

“…sunny? Glittery? You’re certain?”

“That I am.”

Hart sighed. “What is it with everyone choosing Cardiff over the rest of the universe? I’ll give you the gorgeous, but… really?” He glanced at Gwen, saw her determined expression and with an overly dramatic sigh, he conceded:

“Fine then. Second decision – when do you want to return – sure you don’t want to take a few years off?”

“Nope. Back when I left, thanks.”

“Done. Third decision.” He turned to her and Gwen felt his breath on her neck: "Once more? For the road?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded, fast. "I. Yes I. Yes I think I do. Want to."

"May I?"

"Mmmm," Gwen pulled him to her. "Oh. Yes."  _There_. "Uh huh"_.Talented. But... what a bastard_.

"Sure?”

“Yes!” she insisted. “Come on then, before I change my mind. Wanker.”

 

"You're not going back to 21st century Cardiff, are you?" Gwen asked.

"No, I've got a line on a fully-equipped Chula warship. They're not that advanced, but I like them. Sentimental reasons. Besides, I think I wore out my welcome on Jack's _territory_ by nearly offing your entire team. You'll note that I didn't, though. Even though you're all fairly incompetent."

That comment gained him a hard whack on the arse.

"Ooh, baby."

Gwen just shook her head.

"Don't worry," Hart continued. "I'll remain your dirty little secret."

She reflected on that. The best and the worst thing about Captain John Hart was this:

_Nobody ever believed a word he said._

 

She felt the rush into silence, saw the swirl of colours and balled her fists determinedly. This time, she landed on one hip, with a hand out to break the fall as her travel companion disappeared. She stood and examined the car park grit in her shaking palm before she looked up and saw the rift waver and close in the distance.

There. The SUV. The blowfish’s red sports car. Her team, with their backs to her. Ianto embracing Tosh. Owen kicking at the pavement. And Jack, with his hands on his knees as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

Gwen grinned and broke into a run. She took a deep breath to issue a joyful shout.

“Hey, kids!” was how it began.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Proctor" is the name of a character in an obscure French sci-fi novel used by the Russians to develop a code during World War II. The book was called Le Miracle du Professor Wolmar by Guy de Teramond.


End file.
